Chapter Seven - It Is None Of Your Concern.

Everly

Staring at myself in the mirror fills me with anger. Things went terribly wrong last night. If I knew the bastard was taking drugs in the bathroom, I wouldn’t have gone back to the hotel with him. I would have left and forgotten all about the money. Roman Holland has a reputation as a bad boy. It didn’t faze me, as I was simply fulfilling my duties. He enjoys things a bit rough, which I can handle, but last night he crossed the line. I had to forcefully push him off me and run. In the process of trying to escape, he pushed me to the ground, hurting my head. I recovered quickly. I’m tough, but he punched me in the mouth before I could escape the room, splitting my lip. It’s cut, bruised, and swollen due to his forceful hand.

I trace my lip with my fingers, feeling a pang of pain. It hurts like a bitch. I won’t be seeing that bastard again! Reporting him to the police wouldn’t change anything. Given his privileged background, they wouldn’t do anything to hold him accountable. His family would ensure it vanished. It’s not worth the trouble and would hurt me more than him.

It’s Sunday, and I’m grateful for the day off. I require it. I have no plans to leave my apartment. Today, I plan on wearing sweatpants, staying on the sofa, and getting all my meals delivered. Later, I might enjoy a couple of glasses of wine.

Sighing, I go to the kitchen to grab some coffee. I’m not hungry now, but I’ll order food later. I have just woken up and missed lunch because it’s already one in the afternoon. I only managed to fall asleep at five this morning. I fill a large mug and then relax on my sofa to enjoy it. I don’t switch the TV on. Right now, all I crave is quiet.

Taking a sip causes me to hiss. God, I want to kill the bastard. I avoid clients who appear to be on drugs because their behaviour can be unpredictable. I should have noticed sooner that Roman was on them. I’ve faced danger before, and last night was just another example. I’m sure it won’t be the last.

My cell phone’s ring breaks the quiet. I look down and notice a video call from Orson. Why on earth is he bothering me on a Sunday? I’m not up for dealing with his nonsense today! I declined the call, but he called again.

Frustrated, I groan and answer it. Otherwise, he’ll keep trying.

“What do you want? It is Sunday and my day off.” I snap.

He doesn’t answer right away. He looks at me with a concerned expression.

“Everly, why is your lip like that?”

Fuck! I forgot about that for a second.

“I just fell, that’s all.” I lie.

“Did he do that to you?” he asks through gritted teeth.

I stare at him, bewildered, “Uh? Who is he?”

“That guy you were with last night... The one belonging to the Holland family? Did he hurt you?”

How does he know I was with Roman?

“Hold on. How did you find out I was with him?”

“Because I saw you at the bar. Tell me, did he do that to you?”

“Again, none of your concern. What do you want?” I sigh.

Why didn’t I see him last night? His presence is always noticeable to me. Wherever he goes, he always stands out in a crowd.

“It is if he hurt you. I heard he was a bastard. I don’t understand why you are involved with him.”

My mouth opens to speak, but no sound emerges. I opted for the next best choice, one that I’m certain will have me regretting it by tomorrow. I end the call and silence the phone. What are the chances of him seeing me with two different clients in one week? He’s likely even more suspicious now.

With a heavy sigh, I rake my fingers through my tangled hair and settle back onto the sofa. I should switch my cell off. I wonder his reason for calling. Was he really after something or just trying to get on my nerves? I guess tomorrow will answer my questions. I will hide my lip with make up. I don’t want people looking at me and speculating about what’s going on.

---

My ass has been firmly planted on the sofa for the last hour. I didn’t have the energy to move. My food order is coming soon. Comfort food! A cheeseburger, fries, a milkshake, and cookies.

I hear the buzz of my apartment’s intercom. I take the guy’s tip from my purse before answering.

“Hello,” I greet.

“Food delivery.”

I wanted to be certain this was my food, not someone else at my door. I buzz them in and go wait at the front door for them. I hear the elevator ping and the footsteps approaching.

“Your food, ma’am.”

I look up and find Orson staring back with a smug grin.

“What the fuck? How did you manage to get my food?”

“The delivery guy arrived at the same time as me. When I realised it was for you, I gave him a hundred to let me bring it up.” He shrugs.

“Wait, how do you know my address?”

“I’m your employer. I have no trouble accessing this information.”

I reach for my food, but he puts it out of reach.

“Give me it.” I huff.

“Only if you let me come in.”

Rolling my eyes, I step aside, letting him in and closing the door. I only agreed because I was starving. He confidently enters the living room and makes himself at home on my sofa.

Hesitantly, I sit beside him, and he finally passes my food to me. I set it on the table and get straight to it.

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay. I know you didn’t fall; you were lying. It was written all over your face. I need you to be honest with me. Did he do that to you, and why are you even spending time with someone like him?”

I have to spin a compelling tale.

“Yes, it was him. I randomly met him one night, and we hook up occasionally.”

It has some truth to it.

His face contorts with anger. “Did you report him?”

I shake my head, “No. It wouldn’t have made a difference. You’re familiar with him and his family. No action would be taken. They’d paint me as the villain. You know better than anyone how these things work, Orson. Those with a lot of money can get away with anything. I refuse to be the one who would come out worse.”

“He can’t get away with that.”

“Yes, he can. End of discussion. Why do you even care? You hate me, remember?”

“Everly, just because we don’t get along doesn’t mean it is okay when someone hurts you like that. I am not a good man; I will be the first to admit it, but I have never laid my hands on a woman. Crossing that line is unacceptable,” he hisses in anger.

Reaching over, he gently caresses my lip with his thumb. A sharp sting makes me groan. He swiftly retracts and offers an apology.

“I am fine. It’s done; there’s no changing it. I have moved on.”

“He better hope he doesn’t run into me,” he says, shaking his head.

“Orson, just let it be. This doesn’t concern you. I can take care of myself.”

He shouldn’t get involved, as it could lead to discovering the truth. It’s crucial for him to forget about it.